


Ice Cream (Cake)

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Birthday, Clint-is-Peter's-Dad, Dysfunctional Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Mind Control, Peter-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:58:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1483708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's an important day. Well, it is to Peter, at least. No one else seems to think anything of it. </p><p>(Prompt: Peter is ten and Clint and Phil - his adopted parents - have been busy and kind of neglecting him lately. Then he runs into Loki who puts it into his head that nobody actually likes him and that he's a burden and so he runs away. Cue worried/protective Avengers looking all over for him!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Cream (Cake)

**Author's Note:**

> This is also a birthday fic for an anon on tumblr! Hope you enjoy it! (Also, I normally write things that are just kind of cute and silly, and this is more sad, so... well...) 
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Non-graphic violence, mind control (well, more like mind influence), and kind of neglect.

Peter Parker-Barton, ten years old and in the fifth grade, was waiting eagerly in front of his elementary school. He bounced up and down in place, trying to keep the grin that he was unable to fully conceal from taking over his entire face. However, as a familiar black corvette pulled up to the curb, he felt the excitement leech out of his body, his smile drooping slightly. 

“Hey, Peter,” Natasha called through the open window, motioning him over. 

The young boy walked over to the car – one which he would normally be ecstatic to be riding in – with dragging footsteps, his shoulders drooping. He pulled open the door and climbed into the front seat, clutching his Hawkeye backpack to his chest (the one that Tony had given to him as a joke, but that he’d decided to bring _everywhere_ , embarrassing his dad to no end). 

“Are you sure you’re tall enough to sit in the front?” Natasha asked, giving Peter a skeptical look, eyeing the small boy dubiously. 

“Pop says no. Dad says yes,” Peter replied, shrugging, and normally he’d try to make a more convincing argument, break out the puppy dog eyes and such, but he didn’t feel like making the effort right now. 

“Well, your dad has horrible judgment,” Natasha declared, giving Peter a look before nodding her head towards the back of the car. “I’m going to go with what your pop says.” 

Peter rolled his eyes at her and sighed, but didn’t protest, getting out of the front and moving to the backseat. Natasha shifted the car into gear and began driving, navigating the New York streets with as much ease and grace as could be expected in such a city. Normally Peter took the subway everywhere, so it was nice to just look out the window while sitting in the comfy sports car. 

“So, are Dad and Pop back yet?” Peter questioned, although he was pretty sure he already knew the answer. 

Natasha paused for a moment and glanced back at Peter, her expression unreadable as she examined him. Her eyes turned back to the road and she finally replied, but her hesitation answered enough – a fact which both of them knew. 

“Something came up,” Natasha said finally, and her tone sounded almost apologetic, in a way Peter had never heard it before. “Their mission’s been extended for a few more days.” 

“Do you know how many?” Peter asked, unable to completely snuff out that little spark of naive hope burning in his chest. 

“Three, at least,” Natasha replied, and Peter could see in the rearview mirror the way her lips were pressed into a firm, unhappy line. “I’m sorry, kid.”

“It’s fine,” Peter muttered, fiddling with one of the straps on his backpack and staring at the Hawkeye picture plastered across the front. “It’s not like I’m not used to it.” 

“How about we get some ice cream?” Natasha said suddenly, making Peter blink and look up at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I could really go for some mint chocolate chip right now.” 

“Pop says I can’t have ice cream before dinner,” Peter replied, apprehension coloring his tone, as if he suspected that she was playing some sort of game with him.

“Do I look like your pop to you?” Natasha answered, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised and a lopsided smirk on her bright red lips. “Plus, he doesn’t have to know. Live a little.” 

“You sound like Dad,” Peter said, trying not to giggle, a tiny smile quirking at his lips. 

“No, your dad sounds like _me_ ,” Natasha shot back, which finally pulled a full smile out of the boy. “Now, where’s the best place to get ice cream around here?”

Peter gleefully gave her directions. And if he felt a pang of loneliness and sadness as he remembered that his pop always got mint chocolate chip when Natasha ordered her cone, well, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Really. 

\---

Peter Parker was once again waiting – alone – in front of the school. He let out a small sigh and scuffed the toe of his shoe against the pavement. He looked left and then right down the sidewalk, searching for, well… He wanted to be searching for one of his parents, but he knew that the likelihood of one of them coming to pick him up today was low. Peter glanced down at his red plastic watch and his heart fell even further as he realized that he’d been waiting for over half an hour. 

He scanned the street again and he thought he saw a familiar figure, stepping forward to get a better look. However, this propelled him into the path of another pedestrian who ran into him, causing him to stumble and fall over. 

“Ow!” Peter yelped as he hit the pavement, clutching one arm to his chest and contorting it to examine the scrape running along the elbow. 

“Oh! I’m _so_ sorry!” the man who had crashed into Peter exclaimed, crouching down next to him. “Here, let me – ”

“‘m fine,” Peter muttered, pushing himself to his feet, ignoring the other man’s outstretched hand, his action making the stranger frown. 

“Are your parents around here somewhere?” the man asked, glancing around before looking back to Peter, who frowned and narrowed his eyes. 

Peter looked at the man closely, taking in his features. His jet black hair was slicked back and fell a little past the nape of his neck. He was tall and slender – also pale, to the point where Peter thought that he might look less out of place in _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ (a movie which his dad loved and Peter had therefore seen far too many times in his life). He seemed pleasant enough, but Peter had a strange feeling of apprehension and dread when he looked at the man. Plus, his Dad and Pop had always told him never to talk to strangers. (Well, unless those strangers could accurately list of the proper Avengers security codes, of course.)

“Yes,” Peter replied, backing away from the unfamiliar man.

“You know, you shouldn’t lie,” the stranger said, quirking one eyebrow as he looked around the street where no one was paying attention to the two of them. “Do you want me to call anyone?”

“No,” Peter answered firmly, glancing to his left at the school door and wondering if he’d be able to run into the sanctuary of the building if this man tried to kidnap him or something. 

He really wished he’d been keeping up on his self defense practice like Pop had wanted him to, even though he and Dad hadn’t been there to help him for the past few weeks. 

“Well, why don’t I – ” the stranger started, reaching out and placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder, when all of the sudden a car horn blared, making Peter practically jump out of his skin as he turned to look at the cause of the disturbance. 

“Hey, kid!” a thankfully familiar voice yelled, and Peter had to hold in his sigh of relief as he saw Tony Stark in his bright red Tesla Roadster pulled up to the curb and looking towards him, ignoring the other people who had stopped to crane their necks and snap pictures on their fancy smartphones. “Hop on in – we don’t have all day!”

Peter glanced back to the stranger who had been harassing him, only to find him gone. Frowning, but grateful nonetheless, Peter turned towards the car and walked over, pausing for a moment before throwing his stuff into the back and climbing into the front, pleased when Tony didn’t bother to try and get him to sit in the back. 

“So, you have an imaginary friend or something?” Tony asked as soon as they’d pulled away from the curb, causing Peter to wrinkle his nose in confusion. 

“ _No_. I’m not a baby,” Peter retorted, frowning at the older man. “Why?”

“Well, you said ‘no’ to thin air,” Tony replied, glancing over at Peter, looking unimpressed. “You don’t have a condition or something, do you? Wait, let me guess – you’re a mutant who can – ”

“I’m _not_ a mutant,” Peter shot back, crossing his arms over his chest and slumping down into the seat. “And I don’t have a ‘condition’ or whatever.” 

“Hey, chill, kid. There’s nothing wrong with being a mutant, and one of my best friends has a ‘condition.’ You know, Bruce. He – ” Tony went on, a small, annoying smile on his face which Peter had learned meant that the billionaire thought he was being cute. 

“That’s not a ‘condition’ – that’s because he was experimenting with nu – ” Peter paused, scrunching his nose again as he tried to pronounce the word. “ – with nu – uh, with radiation.” 

“I think the word you’re looking for is nuclear,” Tony replied, raising one eyebrow at Peter. “And where’d you learn about that?” 

“I can read,” Peter said stubbornly, still scowling at Tony. “I’m not a baby.” 

“You know, if you keep saying that someone might think you have a complex,” Tony answered, and Peter detected that same annoying note of amusement in his voice. 

“So why are you picking me up?” Peter asked, deciding to change the subject, hopefully to a topic that Tony would be less annoying about. “I thought that Natasha was supposed to this week.” 

“Well, Widow had to – ” Tony started, however, he was interrupted by an electronic sounding voice with a distinctly British accent. 

“Sir, Captain Rogers wishes to inform you that he, Thor and the Hulk are in need of immediate assistance over on the Brooklyn Bridge,” JARVIS informed them, sounding as concerned as an AI could (probably) sound. “They are trying to contain a rather large group of, well. They appear to be of some sort of animal origin, however – ”

“Shit. JARVIS, tell them I’m on my way. ETA fifteen minutes, max,” Tony said, cutting the AI off, suddenly serious as he turned to Peter. “First of all, don’t tell Coulson I swore in front of you and I’ll let you into my lab this weekend. Second, I’m going to drop you off at the tower. Keep the news on and if there’s any sort of warning, you know where the safe room is, and don’t be afraid to ask JARVIS for help.” 

“Isn’t anyone else going to be there?” Peter asked before he could stop himself, blushing slightly as he berated himself for sounding needy. 

“Well, Cap, Thor, Brucie and I are going to be on the bridge, Widow’s off god knows where, Pep and Hill are at a meeting in Tokyo, Falcon’s at some sort of army battalion reunion thing and your dads are in – Washington, was it?” Tony answered, frowning slightly as he tried to remember. “You have JARVIS, at least.” 

Peter sighed internally and slouched deeper into his seat, resigning himself to another evening alone in Stark Tower. 

\---

Peter stared at the glowing red letters of his alarm clock. He was curled up on his side in his bed, tucked tightly under his covers. The ten year old watched sullenly as the clock changed from 9:59 am to 10:00 am. He decided to wait a little longer. 

At 10:21 am, Peter got out of bed. 

He padded through the hallways of the Barton-Coulson apartment in his night clothes (a black widow t-shirt and matching pajama pants), looking through the kitchen, the library, the living room, and even peeking into his parents’ bedroom. His heart fell, but he couldn’t say that he was particularly surprised. He walked over to the elevator and pushed the down button, making it glow as red as his alarm clock. The young boy waited patiently until he heard the soft ding signaling its arrival. He went down to the floor with the common kitchen and rec room, making a beeline for Natasha as he saw her grabbing an energy bar out of one of the cupboards. 

“Hey, Natasha – ” he started, twisting the hem of his t-shirt in his fingers. 

“I’m sorry, Peter, but I really don’t have time,” Natasha interrupted, barely even glancing at him as she shoved the energy bar in her bag along with a bottle of purple Gatorade. 

“Can you just tell me when Dad and Pop are going to be back?” Peter asked, following her as she headed towards the door.

“I don’t know exactly when – sometime tomorrow,” Natasha sighed, grabbing her jacket off of the back of one of the armchairs and her keys off of the coffee table before pressing the button for the elevator. “Now I really have to – ”

The metal doors slid shut behind her before Peter could make out her last words. Peter stood there for a few moments, just staring at the elevator, stunned. 

“Happy birthday, Peter,” JARVIS’s electronic voice intoned. 

Peter was unable to hold back the tears building in his eyes. 

\---

“You’ve got the cake?” Clint asked, glancing over at his husband as he scanned his fingers to open the elevator doors. 

“For the last time, _yes,_ Clint – I’ve got the cake,” Phil sighed, holding up the bag clutched securely in his left hand. “It’s fine; I’ve checked.” 

“I’m sorry, Phil,” Clint replied, his tone tired. “I just – we told him we’d be back in time for his birthday, and I know that it’s still technically the twentieth, but he probably thinks we’ve forgotten or – ”

“He knows better than that, Clint,” Phil said, placing a comforting hand on the small of the other man’s back. “He knows that we wouldn’t forget something this important.” 

“But we’ve been gone so much lately,” Clint protested, his expression the sort of unhappy that made Phil want to hug him and kiss him until he forgot all his troubles. 

“I’m sure he understands – ” Phil started, only to be cut off by Clint’s slightly angry voice. 

“He’s a ten year old kid – how is he supposed to just _understand?_ ” Clint shot back, frowning as they stepped out of the elevator into their apartment. “Would you have understood if your dad just…?” 

“We’ll talk to him about it, okay?” Phil replied, placing a light kiss on Clint’s lips before moving into the kitchen and placing the spaceship decorated ice cream cake carefully into the refrigerator. “And we’ve already told the WSO that we’re no longer going to consult for long undercover missions, so we should be around more often. We can spend more time with Peter, maybe take him to Disney world or something.” 

“Where is he?” Clint asked suddenly, leaving his suitcase in the hall and glancing around the apartment, his brow furrowing in worry. “Peter? We’re home!”

“He’s probably in his room,” Phil suggested, walking over into the living room and depositing his briefcase on one of the armchairs. “Why don’t you – ”

Phil paused suddenly, cutting himself off as he spotted a small slip of paper lying innocuously on the coffee table, Peter’s messy handwriting scrawling a short message on it. He picked it up, his heart freezing as he read the note. 

“Clint, check Peter’s room _now_ ,” Phil barked, pulling out his phone and quickly dialing a number. 

“He’s not there,” Clint answered, popping his head back into the living room and shooting Phil a concerned look. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“I think Peter’s run away from home,” Phil replied, clutching the boy’s note so tightly his knuckles were white. 

\---

Truthfully, when Peter had decided to leave he hadn’t given much thought to where exactly he was going to go. He’d just grabbed his backpack, stuffing it with some clothes, snacks, his copy of _The Hobbit_ and his toothbrush, before leaving. (And yes, it was the Hawkeye one, because even though he’d realized that his Dad didn’t want him around, he couldn’t help but cling onto some small memento of him.) As soon as he’d set foot outside of the tower, he’d just stood there for a moment on the sidewalk, looking in both directions before finally just picking a random one to walk in. 

Well, actually “random” wasn’t exactly the right term. See, for a reason he couldn’t quite comprehend, he’d felt _drawn_ to that direction, for lack of a better word. The longer he walked, the more certain he was of where to turn and how far in whatever direction to wander, even though he soon found himself in areas of the city he’d never been before. Eventually, he found himself in front of a fancy hotel, done up in shiny gold and cream colored drapery. He stared at the entrance for a moment, garnering odd looks as he stood there clutching the straps of his bright purple backpack. He felt strangely compelled to go inside, and although a small voice in the back of his mind was screaming at him not to, he complied. 

“Hey, kid, you can’t just – ” one of the employees said quietly, when they saw Peter standing around inside, staring off aimlessly. 

“Ah, Peter, _there_ you are!” a voice interrupted suddenly, and Peter turned to find the man who had bumped into him the other day coming towards him, his arms outstretched to pull the boy into an embrace which Peter for some reason didn’t feel the need to struggle against. “You had me so worried!”

“Ah, Mr. Laufeyson, I-I’m so sorry,” the hotel worker stammered, blushing brightly as he apologized to the other man. 

“Just make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Laufeyson – because that was apparently his name – replied, and for a moment Peter wanted to pull away, the hint of darkness in the stranger’s tone unsettling. “Come on, Peter. Let’s go.” 

At that order, all of Peter’s doubts vanished and he found himself following Laufeyson to the elevators. As they got in and stood next to each other, Peter had a sudden urge to lean against the man again, to seek another embrace, because how long had it been since either of his parents had hugged him? Not since they’d left on their last mission, nearly two weeks ago, at least. However, before he could move or ask, the elevator slowed to a halt and the door slid open, Laufeyson exiting and Peter following obediently. 

They entered the room at the end of the hall, a large, opulent room, colored with dark green and the same cream as the lobby. Peter stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure what to do now that he’d arrived at the destination some strange force in his mind had been leading him towards. 

“Sit down, Peter,” Laufeyson said, lounging in one of the armchairs and motioning for Peter to seat himself on the couch, and although his words could be interpreted as a suggestion, there was something about his tone that told Peter it was an order. 

“Who are you?” Peter asked suddenly, and the man blinked, surprised, but that expression only appeared on his face for a split second. 

“You may call me Loki,” the man replied, his eyes boring into Peter in a way that should have been unnerving, but that for some reason seemed completely natural. 

“Why am I here?” Peter continued, his nose scrunching up in confusion as a sudden fog began to cloud his mind as he articulated the question, as if he’d stepped over some invisible boundary. 

“Oh, I think we both know the answer to that,” Loki answered, a hint of laughter in his voice. “Your parents don’t love you.” 

This statement made Peter pause for a moment, his mouth open, words he couldn’t quite sort out caught in his throat. A part of his mind was screaming at him – “Wrong, wrong, wrong!” – but it was muted and it could barely permeate his consciousness. 

“No one loves me,” Peter finally murmured, drawing his knees up to his chest and hugging them close, curling himself up into a tiny ball. 

“That’s not true, Peter,” Loki replied, leaning forward in his chair, leaning closer to the young boy. “ _I_ love you.” 

“You do?” Peter asked, looking up at the other man with wide eyes, the doubt in his mind quieting to a nearly inaudible whisper. 

“Of course I do,” Loki insisted, smiling slightly. “You see, I understand you. I know what it’s like to be betrayed by the people who you once thought you knew, to be hurt by those who you thought you loved. 

“In fact,” the man continued, standing up and moving to sit next to Peter on the couch, “you’re more my son than you ever were theirs. Don’t you see, Peter? You’re _my_ son.” 

“I – ” Peter started, but he was unable to get the words out, instead leaning over to wrap his arms around Loki’s middle, the man returning his hug and petting his hair soothingly. “Yes.” 

\---

Clint was at his wits’ end. The Avengers and the entirety of the New York police force were on the lookout for Peter had had been for nearly four hours now, yet they hadn’t found even the tiniest bit of evidence pointing to his son’s whereabouts. In fact, the only thing they’d managed to find so far to suggest that Peter had left of his own volition (instead of being kidnapped or something) was the security camera footage from Stark Tower. Strangely, JARVIS hadn’t recalled detecting his exit, a fact which immediately put Clint on edge. 

Of course, this was all his fault, really. He must have read Peter’s goodbye note a hundred times by now, and every read through just made things worse. To think that Peter thought they didn’t want him anymore – to the point where he’d _leave_ … Clint felt like the worst piece of shit in existence. 

Clint hadn’t initially wanted children. After his own family experience he was sure that he’d mess it up – that he’d turn out just like his father. The day Phil had come home carrying a scared six year old boy changed that, though. Phil had explained in hushed tones that Peter’s parents had been killed while under SHIELD supervision and that because of that he couldn’t be sent to live with any of his relatives. Peter would be staying with them temporarily, Phil had said. Just until someone could take him in on a permanent basis. Clint had never imagined coming to love the kid so much that _he’d_ be the one to suggest that they keep him. 

But, it looked like he’d fucked it up just as he’d feared, just as he fucked up everything else good in his life. 

(Well, except for Phil, but sometimes when Clint was low he couldn’t help but remember that just because they’d been together for this long didn’t mean that things would continue smoothly forever.)

Clint was broken out of his thoughts by the shrill ringing of his phone. He checked the caller ID, frowning as he failed to recognize the number. A tiny part of him hoped that it was Peter calling, that he’d found a phone and decided that he wanted to come home. 

“Clint Barton – ” he started, only to be cut off by a voice that chilled his bones.

“Hello, little bird, how are you?” the voice of Loki Laufeyson asked, his tone as slick as oil and thick as honey. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“You _bastard_ ,” Clint hissed into the receiver, earning him a concerned look from Phil as he nearly broke the phone with his tight grip. “What have you done with him?”

“What have _I_ done with him?” Loki asked, mock affronted. “I think you should be asking yourself that question.”

And oh, how that hurt, because it was _true_. It was so painfully true, but Clint wasn’t going to admit that to this monster. 

“What do you want?” Clint said finally, trying not to let his voice waver, although he was sure that Loki could hear the choked quality to his tone. 

“Nothing much. Just your son. Not that you seem to want him. Really, I’m doing him a favor,” Loki replied, probably looking unbearably smug. “I’ll be nice though. I’ll let you say goodbye to him one last time.”

“You’d think that with what your own father did that you’d – ” Clint shot back vehemently, anger and sadness swelling and mixing within him. 

“I’ll see you inside of Peter’s elementary school in an hour,” Loki said, talking over Clint. “Just you and Agent Coulson. If you bring anyone else – and I _will_ know – then you’ll never get to see Peter again.”

With that, he hung up, and it was all Clint could do to not break out into tears. 

\---

Clint stood in the darkened front hallway of his son’s elementary school, his husband’s arm wrapped firmly around his shoulders, as they both waited to see Peter for what might possibly be the last time in their lives. Not that they’d let him go that easily – oh no. Even if Loki did take him they’d scour the entire world for him and they’d never stop searching until they found him or died trying. 

“Well, it’s nice to see that you actually listened to me,” a horribly familiar voice said, and Clint whipped around to face the man materializing out of the shadows. “I’d hate for you to miss out on this.” 

“Peter,” Phil breathed, his voice croaky in a way that Clint had never heard it before. “Peter, we’re so sorry. We never wanted to – ”

“Silence,” Loki barked, and although Clint could tell that it took immense control for Phil to comply, he grudgingly did. “Now, Peter, I believe you had something to say to them?”

There was a pause as Peter stared up at them, his eyes blank in a way that terrified Clint, even though they weren’t the bright unnatural blue that would signify tesseract involvement. In a horrible moment, Clint realized that Peter was holding Loki’s hand, clutching in the same way he did when he was feeling shy in a new place and Phil or Clint was trying to comfort him. 

“I don’t love you anymore,” Peter said finally, his tone strange and lifeless, but unbearably cutting just the same. “You’re not my parents. I want to go with Loki.”

Clint couldn’t help his sudden, audible inhalation – a strangled gasp at Peter’s – at his _son’s_ – words. 

“Goodbye,” Peter finished, and Clint couldn’t help but notice a slight hesitation in his tone, making a small ember of hope flare to life in him. 

“I love you,” Clint blurted out, taking a step forward. “Peter, I love you, and I know that you don’t believe me – I know that it might not mean much, but I do – _we_ do – ”

“You’re a liar!” Peter yelled, the first real emotion he’d shown since he’d started talking, startling Clint. “Loki loves me more!”

“Then what day is it today?” Phil said suddenly, causing silence to descend again. “Tell me, Loki: what day is it?” 

“What day is it?” Loki repeated after a moment, his brow furrowed. “This must be a trick question, but I must say, it’s falling flat, because I fail to see – ”

“Happy birthday, Peter,” Clint said simply, forcing a small smile as he looked at Peter. 

Those simple words seemed to change something in Peter. He blinked, shaking his head, his fingers loosening in Loki’s grip. 

“Happy birthday,” Phil echoed, taking a step forward, his arms outstretched. “We love you.”’

All of the sudden, Peter shot forward, breaking out of a surprised Loki’s grasp and barreling into Phil, wrapping his arms around his father’s stomach and burying his face in Phil’s suit jacket, sobbing and hiccupping, babbling incomprehensibly.

“I’m sorry, Peter. I’m so, so sorry – we never should have – ” Clint murmured, joining the hug and squeezing Peter tightly, never wanting to let his son go again. 

“D-dad,” Peter sputtered, mumbling something else that Clint couldn’t quite make out. “Pop. I-I lied. I still love you, I – ”

“Peter!” Loki yelled, his expression turning ugly. “Peter, what are you doing? They don’t really love you! They – ”

Suddenly, a bright electric spark illuminated the room. Loki’s body convulsed and fell to the floor, revealing Natasha Romanov behind him, her taser equipped bracelets still glowing in the dim lighting of the elementary school hallway.

Peter blinked at her for a moment, having stopped sobbing, trying to figure out what had just happened. She smiled weakly at him, a guilty look crossing her face. 

“Hey, kid. Happy birthday,” she said softly. “I’m sorry about earlier. I would offer you ice cream, but I think all of the shops are closed at this hour.” 

Peter looked at her for a moment before nodding and wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffling and trying to look tough. 

“’s okay,” he muttered, looking at her shyly, still clutching Phil’s jacket tightly with one fist. “Tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Natasha replied, he smile growing slightly. 

“We have ice cream _cake_ at home,” Clint said, Peter’s head whipping around to look at him with wide, hopeful eyes. 

“Y-you – ?” Peter stammered, his mouth hanging open. 

“Remembered?” Phil supplied, quirking one eyebrow at Peter. “Of course we did. How could be forget something so important?”

“I’m sorry,” Peter murmured, burying his face in Phil’s now snot and tear covered suit jacket again, his voice slightly muffled. “I-I shouldn’t have – ”

“It’s not your fault, Peter,” Clint said soothingly, stroking his son’s hair. “We shouldn’t have been gone for so long. We should have called you more often and we should have been here for you. We’re _going_ to be here for you more.” 

“I love you,” Peter mumbled again. 

“We love you, too,” Phil replied.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone else wants to send me prompts, my tumblr is authorkurikuri.tumblr.com!


End file.
